


I'm Not Going to Teach Your Boyfriend to Dance

by justbygrace



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 20:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10521324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbygrace/pseuds/justbygrace
Summary: "John Smith was the last person anyone would expect to be teaching dancing, a fact that he was perfectly aware of and was usually the first to admit."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from the song with a similar title.

John Smith was the last person anyone would expect to be teaching dancing, a fact that he was perfectly aware of and was usually the first to admit. When people would start his classes, they would always do a double-take when they first laid eyes on him. With his crew cut, leather jacket, and work boots he looked like he'd feel more at home in a garage as a mechanic than as a dance instructor at a prestigious studio. He would tell people he didn't get into this business because of his looks and hustle them along and by the end of the first lesson they were firm believers in him and his technique. His ability to teach anyone to dance was legendary and his classes were always booked far in advance.

He refused to sign anyone up who didn't already have a partner - he wasn't a matchmaking service - and he claimed it saved him a lot of grief, after all, when the inevitable drooling over the dance instructor started, the couple thing was his saving grace. Which worked right up until the day she walked in his class. Her name was Rose Tyler and she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. He had never believed in love at first sight, and he didn't now, but he did believe in love at first dance and the first time he saw her twirling around his dance floor, he swore there was not a more perfect sight. 

He had always had a hands-on approach to teaching, it was kind of hard to teach the more complicated moves verbally (and speaking wasn't his strong point), but even he had to admit that he danced with Rose more than was strictly necessary. It was just that her eyes sparkled up at him, her sharp wit kept him on his mental toes, and her body fit his in a way that no one's had since the war, since the literal "Dear John" letter, since he started using dancing to keep the voices of his fallen comrades out of his head.

Rose was, of course, attending classes with a boyfriend, in fact, that's why she was there. Because her boyfriend (and John used the term in the loosest possible sense) had two left feet and was the most hopeless case that had ever darkened the door of his studio. John took a certain amount of pleasure in deliberately getting his name wrong and then using it as often as possible. The boy stood it with only minimal complaints; he didn't seem to want to be there anymore than John wanted him there. The dance classes were apparently all Rose's idea and "Rickey the Idiot" obviously hated every minute of it. 

The desire to throw Mickey out of the plate glass window and devote his time to dancing with Rose (in all sense of the word) was a constant struggle, but John was a professional and he did have a contract to uphold. And so, with gritted teeth and clenched fists, John forced himself to teach Mickey and Rose to dance together. Watching the two of them perfect their partnership (both on and off the floor) was nearly enough to drive John back to drink, a vice he had sworn off when he threw himself into dance. 

Each passing weekly lesson was a brand of torture that the insurgents back in his war days had never been cruel enough to inflict and a month and a half into the three month lesson period, he showed up to class in a foul mood. He was abrupt with everyone, snapping orders and criticizing even his student's tiniest flaws. Everyone was quick to get out of his way and at least three people broke down crying at his harsh words. In fact, the only person who didn't jump to attention was Rose. Instead she met him glare for glare, her posture telling him she wasn't giving him an inch. He hated her as much as he loved her that night, the urge to drag her into his arms and beg her to leave Mickey almost overwhelming, but he couldn't, even in his coarseness he was too much of a gentleman to do that, and so he allowed himself only one extra dance - just to prove to everyone that someone could reach his impossibly high standards - and tried not to focus on how her soft curves complemented his harsh edges.

In the lessons that followed he swore he could tell a difference in how Mickey and Rose interacted. Usually by that point in the course the couples were more in sync than ever, their dancing styles a direct indication of how their relationship was doing in real life (and as much as he claimed not to be a marriage counselor, his courses tended to make or break a couple). And, if his eyes were to be trusted, Mickey and Rose's relationship was floundering. He tried not to focus on it too much; it would be too much of a dream come true and the only thing he dreamed of was the ash of burning villages. 

Sure enough, the rest of the weeks went by without Mickey and Rose breaking up or Mickey suddenly getting struck by lightning or ingesting poison or any of the other 101 scenarios for his demise that John came up with to help himself sleep. There was, however, a definite rockiness to their relationship that John delighted in and assisted as soon as he knew any of their triggers. It was a low and underhanded thing to do and he did not care. Rose looked miserable nearly all of the time (except when she was dancing with John and even then it was only a happy sort of miserable) and Mickey constantly appeared as if he was being asked to face an army of man-eating birds. None of this helped John's overall outlook on life, but life had never gone the way that he wanted it to and there was no evidence that it was about to start now.

The last day of lessons was excruciating. Mickey and Rose were full out fighting now and they were less in tune with each than they had been when they started classes. The failure was affecting the mood of the other couples and it was almost a relief to see the backs of his students. Almost because Rose had turned and looked over her shoulder at him as she was leaving and there was a look of...dare he call it longing? in her eyes that made him almost called her name, beg her to stay, kiss her, grab her hand and tell her to run, almost anything but what he did: stand there and stare after her numbly. 

His next set of lessons started in less than twenty-four hours and it took every ounce of military training to keep him from quitting and taking off for the coast, for Antarctica, for outer space, for anywhere but there. He paced his tiny flat, drove in circles around London, put on his music with the heaviest beat and took out his frustration on the smooth floors of his dance studio, and tried desperately not to think about blonde hair, a tongue-touched smile, and whiskey-colored eyes that seemed to be daring him to take a chance.

As John watched the next set of couples trail into the studio with their raised eyebrows at his appearance, he wondered if it wasn't time to quit this business; he didn't have the energy to go through this again. He stared out at the crowd wondering how he was going to open his mouth and begin class when the door opened again and a slant of sunlight burst through, casting the newcomer in a halo of light. He stared, he'd already ensured everyone who was signed up was there and then the door closed and he gasped. It was her, leaning against the door with a half amused, half tentative expression on her face.

"Got room for one more student?" Her voice rang across the crowd and everyone's heads swiveled between the two with great interest.

He had to clear his throat to be able to form words. "We're full up here." Her face fell and he hoped he hadn't mucked it up entirely. "But I do have room for a partner."

She grinned, making her way through the couples, her eyes never leaving his. When she stopped in front of him, she went up on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. He didn't have time to respond before she was pulling back and grabbing his hand, leading him forward. "You'll find your feet at the end of your legs. You may care to move them."

"Fantastic." Because she was. Because this was. Because life was.


End file.
